


ruthless calculus

by Sahoin



Series: muriel shepard [2]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Depression, F/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 11:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15532938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sahoin/pseuds/Sahoin
Summary: She realizes that what was saved was Commander Shepard. Murry, Muriel — little chips and pieces of Murry remain, but they aren't enough to fill the whole interior of the Commander Shepard suit, and every moment of this war erodes Murry further. Beats the fight right out of her. Wears her down. It's up to Commander Shepard to save the galaxy, and sacrifice Murry's remains to do it. Can't have both.—[Post the shitshow that was Thessia. Warnings for hopeless/exhaustedly depressed thoughts, but nothing terribly beyond the scope of what Shep already clearly feels in-game.]





	ruthless calculus

**Author's Note:**

> description says it all really. my girl has an insane amount of responsibility resting on her shoulders and that's a lil' much to handle after a failure as massive as thessia :/
> 
> this ain't beta'ed btw, so feel free to point out mistakes or constructive critiques or what have you ;) it is meant to be a bit jilted up because that's what her thoughts are like rn, but if its too nonsensical I'd like to know, lol

_Shake it off, Shepard._

Shake it off. Anderson means well, she knows he does and there's so fucking little to say in the middle of the galaxy-wide apocalypse, but — shake it off? God, but she wants to rip his head off. Call him back to scream at him. _Shake it off, Anderson? Shake it off? This isn't your fucking First Contact War! This isn't fighting for Earth, this isn't being called a hero and feeling lucky to walk away! I did that already, I know that drill, this is different! This is the entire fucking_ galaxy _on_ my _shoulders, this is trillions of lives with me as their only goddamn hope! You_ insult _me when you pretend this is like anything you or anyone else has_ ever _experienced!_

Shepard clenches her fists at her sides and doesn't call back though. Just slinks out through the war room and past Traynor, not wanting to speak with the bubbly, well-meaning specialist right now. She slips into the elevator and hesitates at the controls; duty and friendship tell her she should go to Liara first, should try to offer comfort, support. But that — that's assuming Liara doesn't hate her now for failing. For losing Thessia. For losing the only miniscule chance they had of surviving this hell. 

"Shepard?" EDI inquires from above her, voice modulated to gentleness. "Do you require assistance in choosing your destination?"

"No, I — sorry." Shepard skates her hand over the options before pressing down on the captain's cabin. She just needs a minute to herself before she can tackle Liara. "Didn't mean to hold the elevator up."

"You did not," EDI says calmly. "No one else has attempted to use it since you stepped inside eight minutes ago. I was concerned for you."

Damn, eight minutes? Shepard leans her back against the wall, closing her eyes as the lift hums and moves upward through the decks. "You can feel concern?"

"An approximation, Shepard. An increasingly negative feedback loop in my subroutines as I watched you stand there. You are distressed, and you are my friend. I wish to help you."

The doors open, and Shepard sighs and steps out to cross the short hall to her cabin in the loft. "Focus on the ship, EDI. We need to be ready to take on Cerberus when we get to Iera."

"Unlike humans, I am capable of multitasking without losing production value," the AI replies. "I can focus on both the ship and you."

"I — I just want to be alone right now," Shepard tells her, pausing in the cabin doorway. The soft blue glow of the fish tank lights the room. "Give me some privacy, EDI. I'll be back out in a little while."

There's a pause before EDI says quietly, "Very well, Shepard," and presumably — hopefully — honors her wish to stop being monitored.

_Shake it off, Shepard._

"Fuck you, sir," she growls under her breath, sudden anger punching up through her chest. Shake it _off._ Shake off an entire galaxy breathing down her neck begging her to save them. Save them _after_ fucking telling her off, after branding her a nutcase.

She swipes her arm over her desk, sending half the things on it crashing to the floor in a loud clatter. It's not enough. Grabbing for her model ships next, she hurls Sovereign against the wall, followed by the Destiny Ascension. Fuck the Council. Leaving them to die wouldn't have helped, she knows, but leaving them alive did no damn good either. Too little too late. Maybe it always would have been too late.

Maybe the Protheans were right. The Reapers. Maybe it is inevitable, always. The end is nigh, the end is nigh.

A sob catches her throat as she sinks to the floor, hunched awkwardly at the top of the three steps leading down into the living area. Worlds are burning, burning, and there's no fucking hope left for her fingertips to cling to. She wonders what it would have been like to let herself fall in the temple. To just fucking let go of all the responsibility tearing her apart. It isn't fair to demand so much of her. It isn't _fair._ Why can't she just _rest._

EDI definitely isn't listening in, Shepard thinks with a sort of hysteria, or else the AI would be _concerned_ again. Or send someone in here. Maybe Garrus. God, her heart aches. Aches at the depth of her emotion for him, at how fucking desperately she wishes they could just be free and content together. That the world wasn't coming apart at the seams just as their love was trying to blossom, like some scrappy dandelion in a baking sidewalk chink.

Shepard cries until her whole face is wet with tears and gross runny-nose discharge, disgusting and unglorified, palms slick from pressing them over her eyes. Her throat feels choked but her chest is hollow, nothing more than a shell surrounding the emptiness that makes up her core. She feels like nothing but a suit of armor sometimes. Wonders again and again how much Cerberus lost of her when they brought her body back to life.

Before, there was Commander Shepard the war hero, the shining paragon of duty and glory, and there was Murry the good soldier, the good friend, the comrade-in-arms, and they fit together neatly. Two complimentary sides of the same coin. A whole person. Now...

She pushes herself to her feet and realizes that what was saved was Commander Shepard. Murry, Muriel — little chips and pieces of Murry remain, but they aren't enough to fill the whole interior of the Commander Shepard suit, and every moment of this war erodes Murry further. Beats the fight right out of her. Wears her down. It's up to Commander Shepard to save the galaxy, and sacrifice Murry's remains to do it. Can't have both.

She shakes her head and walks, exhausted, into the bathroom to wash her face. War on this scale inevitably comes down to ruthless calculus, no matter what she might say to others to keep their spirits up. And ruthless calculus has just written her right out of the final equation — if, that is, her failure hasn't just written _everyone_ out of the final equation.

Her blue eyes look dull as she lifts her head and stares at herself in the small mirror. Dull and dead, red-rimmed from tears but the blotchiness on her cheeks fading under the cool touch of the water. Strands of blonde hair escape her ponytail. She can't be bothered to fix it. Her arms feel too heavy to lift that high, and anyway, she needs to rally her strength to go tend to Liara.

After Liara though, she promises herself, she'll go to Garrus. She'll allow herself a moment of silence with him. Comfort. The world is ending despite all Commander Shepard is trying so damned hard to do; at least what little is left of Murry can have a moment's peace in the time that remains.


End file.
